


I Wish You'd Live (Like You're Made Of Glass)

by andrewminyard (hephaestiions)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (canon compliant with andrew's storyline), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, because well that needs to happen, but they will be okay eventually, endgame kandreil, established andreil, i really want them to heal, i'll add more tags as the fic progresses, it's going to be rough on all of them i think, or the closest to okay as these boys get, so that's where i am going to go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hephaestiions/pseuds/andrewminyard
Summary: Kevin Day is used to wanting things he can’t have. Being #1 on the Raven’s Court. Chocolate, though he’ll never admit to it. Skipping Medieval History.Neil and Andrew. Knowing how to be a good son. Being a friend.He is used to being denied.–The alcohol and trauma gets to Kevin, as they all knew it would.
Relationships: Kevin Day/Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 48
Kudos: 114





	1. It Starts Like This.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been going through some things and reading Andreil and Kandreil to cope, so here is my first attempt at writing these difficult boys struggling through life with each other. 
> 
> The fight because they don't know how to die quietly. They will win, because they don't know how to lose. 
> 
> Here we go.

It starts like this: Thea breaks up with Kevin when he’s on his way to class. 

He’s exhausted from morning practice– a hangover and Neil trying to work off the unpleasant aftereffects of a nightmare making for a gruelling clash of whiplike words and the sound of racquets clacking harshly against each other on court.

He wants to sleep. He wants a drink. He wants to watch Jeremy Knox play a good game on the TV, reclining on the couch or his vaguely hard but nevertheless familiar bunk. And yet, he’s trudging his way to Medieval History because Palmetto State’s Exy scholarship depends on grades and attendance and not Tetsuji Moriyama’s money or the many unfortunate techniques he knows with his silver topped cane. 

Kevin Day is used to wanting things he can’t have. Being #1 on the Raven’s Court. Chocolate, though he’ll never admit to it. Skipping Medieval History. 

He is used to being denied. 

He grits his teeth against the sharp throb of his backpack thudding against the pulled muscles of his shoulder and tries not to fall asleep on the sidewalk. It’s harder than it should be. 

His phone vibrates in his back pocket and at first Kevin thinks its a message. Wymack telling him to return the key to the secret cabinet in his office where he stashes the expensive drinks or Dan asking about afternoon practice. People text Kevin about two things– Exy or vodka, and though he doesn’t care enough to complain, sometimes he wonders what it would be like to receive pictures of stray cats or invitations to parties or be added to group chats. 

But the phone keeps buzzing, and Kevin groans. He isn’t in the mood to talk, he isn’t even in the mood to hear someone’s voice. But people don’t usually call him unless its an emergency, so he draws the phone out of his pocket anyway. Thea’s name lights up the screen. 

He knows its not an emergency. Thea’s parents are listed as emergency contacts and the few friends she has don’t care enough about their relationship to call him if she’s in trouble. And Thea isn’t the type to get in trouble in the first place. He doesn’t think it’s normal to be this disinterested in talking to one’s girlfriend, but to be fair to himself and Thea, Kevin isn’t particularly interested in talking to anyone at the moment, not even himself. 

Thea has never been an exception to any of Kevin’s rules, and on a Tuesday morning, on his way to one of the most boring classes he has chosen to take, she isn’t about to start becoming one. 

He thinks about rejecting it. 

Then thinks about the angry, disappointed text she will send immediately after. She knows his schedule, knows where he probably is. And he doesn’t have a good reason to not take this call. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Are you alone?” 

Kevin frowns. He’s always alone when she calls. It’s not something they check in on unless either one of them have something to say they don’t want heard by ‘mixed company’. Thea still hasn’t adjusted to the concept that talking to Kevin himself is being in mixed company, but Kevin doesn’t think she ever will. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking around, just to be sure. Not a familiar face in sight. 

“Good. We’re breaking up.” 

At first he thinks he heard her wrong. 

“Connection here is terrible,” he says. “Give me a second.” 

He jogs off to a nearby alcove, where its quieter without the dead-eyed, exhausted students milling about. Hopes he doesn’t have to ask her to repeat again. “You were saying?” 

“We’re breaking up,” Thea says, and Kevin removes the phone from his ear and stares at the screen. 

“Why?” 

“I want to go to the Ravens’ Alumni Meet.” 

They’ve had this argument before. Well, not _argument_ exactly. They don’t argue. It’s been Thea telling Kevin she’s going and he’s going to be her date and for the first time in his life, Kevin refusing. It had been a frigid week without calls or texts or brief emails followed by a tentative ceasefire where they spoke around the issue. 

And then Kevin had gotten drunk and texted her, _take her someone else_ and she’d responded with _okay._

“I never said you couldn’t go,” Kevin says, confused and slightly angry. He’s not… _like_ that. He doesn’t tell her what she can or can’t do. He doesn’t tell her she can’t go to balls and Alumni meets and red carpet events without him. 

“You’re not listening,” she says, and the edge of her words are sharper than Andrew’s knives. “I want to go.” 

Oh. 

“He broke my hand,” Kevin says after five beats of frozen silence. “He raped Jean. And none of them see anything wrong with either of those things. They helped, even. With Jean.” 

Thea is silent. 

“Thea,” he says, the desperation lacing his words less for the sake of their relationship and more because he needs someone who isn’t a fucking Fox to _understand_. “Thea, he would have killed me and they would help him bury the body.” 

“As if your Foxes would not do the same.” 

Kevin inhales, sharp and painful. “It’s not the same.” 

“It is loyalty, Day.” 

There’s a strange, desperate urge to laugh. “You’re more loyal to Riko than you are to me.” 

“I’m loyal to the Court that bred me,” she says, and _that’s_ the crux of the matter, isn’t it? The bleeding, festering heart of the matter that they’ve been skirting since he convinced her Riko broke his hand. The reason behind the accusation in her eyes. Her aversion to touching him since. It’s not about Riko or Tetsuji or the Moriyamas. It’s about the damn Court. Thea wouldn’t have cared if he’d shot Riko and buried the body himself. Maybe, she’d have been proud. Maybe she’d have helped him. 

At the very least, she’d have tried to understand it. 

But she cares that he left. She cares that he’s ‘mixed company’ now. She cares that he doesn’t want to be her date to the Ravens’ ball. 

Thea couldn’t care less about his transition from #2 to Queen, she cares that he’s not a fucking Raven anymore, that he’s probably forgotten how to walk in formation, that he doesn’t maintain sixteen hour days. 

“We’re breaking up,” he agrees. 

Thea disconnects. Kevin stares at the sleepy eyed boy on his bike cycling towards the Math building. A confusing mass of emotions lurch in the pit of his stomach. Threads of betrayal he didn’t think he could feel tangling with uncertainty, wrapped in a thin shroud of anger pulsing to the beat of misery. 

He doesn’t want to sort it out in Medieval History.

He turns, and heads back to Fox tower. 

– 

He walks in to the dorm and wishes he hadn’t. 

He’d entered quietly, unwilling to disturb either Neil or Andrew if they’d decided to catch up on more sleep. Neither of them have morning classes on Tuesdays, so he’d hoped he could tiptoe in and spend the morning in his bunk, watching Penn State’s last game for the third time. 

He does not walk in on Neil or Andrew sleeping. 

They’re on the couch, turned towards each other, Andrew’s hand on the back of Neil’s neck, Neil’s hands on Andrew’s shoulders. They don’t pick up on Kevin frozen in the doorway because both their eyes are closed and their minds are presumably occupied by the fact that their tongues are in each other’s mouths. Neil makes a small sound, nothing Kevin has ever heard out of his brutal mouth before, nothing he thought the lips forming Andrew’s manic smile or his apathetic expression could draw out. 

Hysterically, Kevin remembers Matt telling Neil about the merits of an empty dorm. Remembers being naive enough a minute ago to have thought that either Neil or Andrew would catch up on sleep in an empty dorm when they could catch up on… this. 

Neil and Andrew are not physical with their affections in front of others. In fact, there’s a pool running about whether they’re affectionate at all. There’s another one running about whether they’re physical. 

Living in their dorm, Kevin knows about Neil and Andrew’s particular brand of affectionate physicality more than the others. He’s watched them get up after each other when one or the other’s had a nightmare. Watched Andrew steal Neil’s socks and his hoodies. Watched Neil sometimes curl up on the edge of Andrew’s bed. 

He’s ached with the naked longing it ignites in him. 

He’s kept his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop as Neil beckoned Andrew closer by the frayed strings of his black hoodie, Andrew pulling away after a second and dragging Neil into the bedroom with a firm grip on his wrist. 

Kevin has firmly kept his mind from wandering into the area where curiosity and yearning intertwine to create images of what might be happening beyond the bedroom door. He doesn’t have their consent to imagine. 

He isn’t always successful, but he makes sure to drown himself in guilt each time to compensate somewhat. 

He isn’t sure how much guilt will be appropriate for _this._

By the time he thinks to clear his throat, Neil and Andrew have jerked away from each other, catching Kevin in their peripheral gaze. 

“You’re here,” Neil says, mouth red and voice a little raspy. “ _Why_ are you here?” 

“Class got cancelled,” Kevin says, closing his eyes against the onslaught of shame when his own voice comes out raspy. 

“You’re usually louder when you enter,” Neil accuses. His ice blue eyes are frozen now, wary and narrowed at being seen so vulnerable. Something bitter lodges in Kevin’s throat. Neil doesn’t care about being seen and exposed, broken and bruised after Evermore, burned and bloodied after Baltimore, shaking on unsteady legs on Court, but he cares when he’s caught kissing Andrew. 

If Neil’s regard for Andrew was a lake, Kevin could comfortably drown himself in it, weighted down by his shame and his guilt and his inevitable desire for the forbidden. 

Kevin shrugs. “Thought Andrew might be sleeping. Didn’t want to risk getting knifed.” 

Andrew rolls his eyes as though it’s an unfounded concern. All three of them know its not. 

“Any more cancelled classes we should know about?” Andrew asks. Kevin hears the question for what it really is: _how long will you be here?_

“I don’t have anything else today,” Kevin says, lying through his teeth. He has a Renaissance lecture in the afternoon, post-practice. He’s going to skip it. “So keep it in your pants or keep it to the roof. I’m going to sleep.” 

“Stay there then. Lust over Knox on your phone if you’re bored,” Neil says, abrasive and annoyed. “If we’d known, we’d have made other plans.” 

_We don’t want you here._

Well, of course they fucking don’t. No one wants an unexpected third wheel on a day they’d reserved for each other. 

All of a sudden, Kevin feels the weight of his exhaustion. The headache of the hangover, his aching back from practice, the twist in his gut screaming _you shouldn’t want them_ and the skip of his heart when he thinks of Thea. Somewhere in the mess of his mind, he recalls the crushing memory of Wymack’s rare but pointed disappointment, Abby’s smile falling. Jean’s eyes coated in a resigned plea and tears that he would not shed. Those things have nothing to do with today or the fact that Kevin likes vodka more than any self respecting Russian, but they’re there, an added torment on a day that already feels like a torn nerve. 

“We have afternoon practice,” he says. “Be there.” 

He stalks off towards the bedroom, Neil’s disappointed sigh ringing in his ears. 

Kevin Day is used to wanting things he can’t have. Neil and Andrew. Knowing how to be a good son. Being a friend. Being _brave_.

He’s used to being denied.


	2. Let It Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eden's Twilight and the progression of Kevin's night and inebriety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! 
> 
> My goal for this fic is to explore Kevin's alcohol abuse issues and to eventually set him on the path to recovery. Yes, Kandreil is endgame and yes, I definitely intend to focus on the development of that, but above all, this is about Kevin and about who he is outside of Exy and vodka. 
> 
> (Well, the vodka seems to be playing a rather major role right now, but my point is to explore what exactly drives Kevin to vodka and how he might eventually put down the vodka) 
> 
> This might seem like a filler chapter, and to an extent it is, because nothing really happens, nothing of significance, no monumental break. But I am going to spend interspersed chapters just exploring Kevin's internal monologue, just having him face some of the issues that canon gave us insight into. Neil is the most unreliable of narrators and his commentary didn't do any justice to Kevin's character at all. And while that's realistic and actually makes sense given the sort of people Neil and Kevin both are, I find Kevin Day inherently interesting and just want to present to everyone who reads this my perspective on his wild and wonderful brain. 
> 
> So enjoy some angst and Eden's and Kevin being upset with a side order of Nicky Hemmick being more tolerable than canon ever allowed him to be.

They go to Eden’s on Friday because of course they go to Eden’s on Friday. They’re always fucking going to Eden’s on Friday because long enough without it and Nicky starts getting antsy, Aaron’s cravings skyrocket until he’s less a man and more a mass of nervous energy and Kevin– well. 

Kevin will never deny vodka and music loud enough to drown out any part of his brain that is still capable of rational thought. 

Rational thought means reality and reality right now is an aching, throbbing wound screaming Thea’s name and Riko’s name and Jean’s name. Reality is closing his eyes to the etched image on the back of his treacherous eyelids of Neil and Andrew kissing on the couch, surprisingly gentle.

Night practices haven’t been awkward since Kevin walked in on Neil and Andrew making out. It has less to do with a genuine lack of discomfort on all their parts and more to do with the fact that Neil and Kevin do not have the time and space for awkwardness on the Court. But there’s an undercurrent of _something_ there, in the way Neil’s throws towards Kevin seem to be directed less towards his racquet and more towards his stomach, in the way Andrew seems to take more satisfaction than normal in returning Kevin’s attempts on goal by making the ball touch the halfway court’s line. 

It’s irritating more than anything, but Kevin lets Neil throw his reserved tantrum because the other option is confrontation. And when he’s playing, he’s too sober to have a conversation about Neil and Andrew making out on the couch of their shared living space.

Right now, he’s packed into the backseat of the Maserati, squished up against the window as Nicky’s phone, tucked into the practically non-existent pocket of Nicky's skinny jeans vibrates against his outer thigh. He’s received at least thirty messages in as many minutes and more than five missed calls, but he’s pretending to ignore it, choosing to continue a rather one sided conversation with a mostly uncommunicative but surprisingly attentive Aaron. 

“Nicky,” he says at last, when the vibrations grow annoying. “Make it stop.” 

“My voice or the phone?” Nicky asks without missing a beat. In his more human moments, Kevin wonders how Nicky has completely internalised the comments the team keeps making about his bounciness. Wonders if he cares that they find him loud and obnoxious.

“Your phone,” he says in a tone that is positively charitable for himself. “Are you fighting with Erik or something?” 

Nicky blinks in surprise. Neil turns in the passenger seat to look over his shoulder at Kevin. Aaron too turns. Kevin scowls, swamped with attention and embarrassment. “What?” He demands into the ensuing silence. 

Nicky breaks it, because Nicky is far better at breaking silences than he is at being a backliner. “Aw, Day, I didn’t know you cared!” He says, patently chipper, jostling his shoulder against Kevin. “I’m surprised you know Erik’s name! Andrew, did you know he knew Erik’s name?” 

“Who’s Erik?” Andrew asks. Kevin has to bite down on a smile. Nicky laughs. No one in the car misses the way Kevin’s question goes unanswered. Usually Nicky responds to questions about Erik with lengthy, completely unnecessary details. Sometimes they’re of his emotions (unbearable and disgusting), sometimes of his sex-life (slightly less unbearable but still disgusting) and sometimes of Germany (surprisingly tolerable because Nicky is actually quite an accomplished storyteller). The way he’s been itching to get drunk all week, the continuous buzzing audible in the lapse into silence and Nicky’s strained laughter tying into his deflection are conspicuous. 

And then Aaron asks Nicky about his Medical Marketing project and Nicky launches back into the conversation he’d been having with Aaron and Neil turns back to stare at the monotony of trees and fields and grass and houses in ill-advised designs scudding by as Andrew picks up speed on the empty highway.

Well then. They’re not talking about it, are they? Just like everything else. 

– 

Eden’s is predictably packed. 

They’re all a little buzzed on dust, except Neil and Andrew who disappear into the darkness of flashing lights as soon as they enter, shoulders bumping. Kevin knows they’ve gone to find a table, but the cracker dust in his system has loosened the iron-clad grip he has on his thoughts regarding those two, and he finds his brain veering into the dangerous territory of what Neil and Andrew might get up to in the crush of bodies where they’re anonymous and alone. 

He shakes his head, angry with his lack of control– _unforgivable_ , murmurs a voice that sounds like a cross between Thea’s and Riko’s– and turns towards Aaron and Nicky who are looking around with twin expressions of relief. 

“I’m heading for the bar,” he tells them unnecessarily. Frowns at himself. Wonders who he’s become all of a sudden, communicative and informative even when he’s not required to be. It’s the dust, he tells himself, pushing through the writhing mass of bodies towards the neon signs and Roland’s silhouette. 

Roland looks up, smiles and ducks under the counter to bring out a bottle of Absolut. Kevin nods his thanks. “Anything else?” 

“All their usuals,” he says, waving a hand. “I didn’t ask.” 

“Is Josten drinking?” Roland asks, smirk playing on his lips. Abruptly Kevin remembers that Andrew has sucked off this man in this very bar, somewhere in the back where he can see a couple disappearing to, thinking they’re being discreet when they’re obviously not. 

“-ey, you with me?” 

“Sorry, what?” Kevin blinks. Remembers that a packed bar might not be the best place to have this crisis. 

Roland shoots him a look. “Lay of the vodka, man,” he says with a pat on Kevin’s shoulder. “Maybe don’t inhale the whole bottle in ten minutes.” 

“I was– distracted,” Kevin scowls. 

Roland’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Looking at my abs? Man, I thought you were straight but if you’ve got something you’d like to get off your chest or dick–“ 

“The drinks,” Kevin interjects before Roland can elaborate on getting off. “Andrew doesn’t like to wait.” 

Roland’s smile is lascivious. “Oh, I bet,” he says and turns away. 

Kevin lets his head thunk down on the granite of the counter and wonders if anyone will come to find him if he falls asleep here. 

– 

Kevin wants to dance. 

It’s not something people really expect him to want when they get to know the person Kevin and not the persona Kevin. Mainly because most people expect him to want nothing that isn’t Exy. 

But one of the few things person Kevin and persona Kevin have in common is physicality and person Kevin finds that he likes showing it off to strangers who don’t know his name or his face. 

Sometimes they do, and they ask him with wide eyes if he’s Kevin Day, and Kevin leans in with a patented smile and a French accent he’s picked up from Jean to say that _no he’s not, maybe they’ve had one too many drinks, and really, it’s probably the hair and the eyes, he gets that a lot._

Sometimes they believe him, sometimes they don’t, but Kevin Day Frequents Nightclub won’t really make for a valuable enough headline in any newspaper except Exy gossip rags, especially not without incriminating pictures. So he takes pleasure in the anonymity of flashing purple lights and a shirtless man who has somehow ended up with pink panties obscuring his eyes (he doesn’t seem to mind) and the way appreciative gazes run over his frame when he steps into the small empty circle of space on the dance floor and lets loose all the pent up tension of the week. 

If Thea had known about Eden’s, she’d have broken up with him sooner. 

If Riko had known about Eden’s, he’d probably have stopped trying to get Kevin back. 

That Kevin thinks, halfway to drunk, vodka bottle swinging from his fingers, would have been an excellent solution that problem. Maybe he should have done that, instead of striking deals with Andrew, instead of going through the agony and terror of nightmares, of waking up every night with RIko’s hands in his hair and texts reading, _I’m coming for you_. 

Pictures of him dancing shirtless on a table at Eden’s, pink panties on his face and DADDY’S LITTLE SLUT written in sharpie on his chest. 

It would have ended up viral on the internet, but it would have been a small price to pay to never have the legitimate threat of the Ravens really coming for him hanging over his head. 

Someone’s grinding their ass up against him, and it feels normal more than anything else, like he isn’t Kevin Day or Queen or Raven but just some dude dancing in a club with breath that smells like nail polish remover. 

She’s petite and she’s pretty and she’s got brown hair, and she’s so far away from Neil and Andrew and what their images are that Kevin laughs to himself and thanks the loud music for the way it obscures the sound. 

He presses his hands to her hips and sways with the bassline of the song and tries to block out the way his whole body aches to feel hard muscle and cropped hair and the leather of armbands against skin under his hands. 

– 

He’s blind drunk and staggering, held upright by Nicky who is not quite as drunk as Kevin expected him to be. 

“You don– don’ hafta,” Kevin mutters, raising the bottle to his lips, as Nicky winds an arm about his waist to keep him upright. 

“I would love to leave you on Eden’s doorstep, but I fear Andrew might kill me,” Nicky responds. His speech is a little slurred and his steps are a little heavy but he’s… he’s that thing Kevin is that he doesn’t like to be, whatever the word is. 

“An’rew woul’ th– _thank_ you,” Kevin hiccups. He should probably put the bottle down, he idly thinks, taking another swig. “If you lef’ me here.” 

He feels Nicky turn to look at him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he says. It’s surprising, but not really, because Nicky is the least _Monster_ out of their lot. Because if Nicky heard Kevin’s inner monologue, Nicky would pull him in for a hug and offer him chocolate. 

Sometimes, Kevin thinks he might want a hug and chocolate. 

What he gets though, is Andrew’s hard stare and Neil’s exasperated eye rolls and their particular brand of effective hell that somehow seems to work in the favour of peak efficiency. 

“‘M not hard,” he says. Nicky makes an amused sound. 

“I don’t want to confirm or deny that statement by groping you, Kevin.” 

“Don’t grope Kevin,” Aaron agrees from Nicky’s other side. “You’re s’psoused to grope E-Erik.” 

“I didn’t think you wanted me groping anybody,” Nicky says, trying and failing to not act surprised by Aaron’s lack of– of– Kevin’s forgotten the word, but it’s the one that means Aaron calls Nicky a fag on Court with no warning and Nicky’s smile goes all tight around the edges and Andrew starts aiming balls at Aaron’s feet and Neil stick checks him too many times and Kevin has to shout at them all and call them useless. 

Aaron shrugs. “Everybody’s gotta grope somebody, man. I’ve got Katelyn and those two bitches have each other, fuck, they’re probably fucking in the car, and Kevin’s got Muldani–“ 

Kevin hasn’t got Muldani. “No Muldani,” he says, sighing into Nicky’s shoulder. “No groping.” 

“No Muldani?” Nicky asks, surprise tinging his tone. Oh right, Kevin hasn’t told them. Hadn’t. Because he has now.

“No Muldani,” Kevin confirms because it’s true, isn’t it? He sighs. He liked Thea. Thea was his friend and Thea made him feel something and Thea was good at Exy. 

He sighs again because the only other people who fit those categories and Kevin’s parameters are Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard and Kevin really wants them but he’s never going to have them and that’s a bit sad. 

It’s a lot sad actually and Kevin wants to cry but he can’t because if he cries, Riko will make him bleed or make him watch Jean bleed but Riko’s dead and Thea’s gone and Jean doesn’t want to talk to him and Neil and Andrew were making out and– 

And Kevin’s _crying_. 

He’s not loud about it like Matt is, he’s not even shoulders-heaving-and-shaking about it like Nicky is and Aaron is, but he’s crying. There are tears sliding down his cheeks, down the place where he’s aware of the covered up tattoo, tears of shame and guilt and grief over things he should not be mourning. They’re wetting the fabric of Nicky’s top, and Kevin doesn’t know if Nicky doesn’t feel it or if he does and says nothing. It’s so novel that he laughs at himself. Nicky pats the top of his head. “I’m taking this away from you,” he says, slowly extracting the vodka bottle from Kevin’s grip. 

Kevin wants to hold on, but he watches Nicky’s fingers curl around its neck, watches the way Nicky switches it to his other hand so that Kevin doesn’t have access to it. Kevin wants to hold on, but watching it swing with Nicky’s steps and the world tilt dangerously with every blink, he’s forced to acknowledge that it was time to let it go. 

In the recesses of his alcohol addled brain, he wonders if that’s a metaphor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding updates: I'm writing this fic in my downtime as stress relief. I'm stressed because I barely have any downtime that isn't being occupied by one thing after another. So for now, the updates will probably be quite irregular, but I have no intention of abandoning this fic anytime soon. Once my life gets a little better at being on track, so will the fic. 
> 
> Anyway, find me on tumblr @/andrewminyyard and come scream to me about Kevin and Neil and Andrew or any of the other foxes you might feel the need to scream to me about. I'm nice, I promise! 
> 
> Kudos, comments and bookmark tags are love, so I would really appreciate if you dropped any of them!

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! kudos/comments/subscriptions are absolute delights, do let me know what you thought!   
> find me on tumblr to scream about aftg @/andrewminyyard !!


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